


Bioshock Infinite: The Lighthouse

by Hoten96



Series: Bioshock: Infinite [1]
Category: BioShock, BioShock Infinite
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-28
Updated: 2013-06-28
Packaged: 2017-12-16 12:03:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,362
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/861803
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hoten96/pseuds/Hoten96
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first scene of the amazing game, Bioshock Infinite. I'm going to post the next scene by next week hopefully.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bioshock Infinite: The Lighthouse

"Are you afraid of God?"  
"No. I'm afraid of you."  
1912: COAST OF MAINE

The sway of the rowboat in the churning waters made Booker feel slightly sick. The pouring rain had already soaked him to the bone, and he cursed himself for not bringing a raincoat like the two people in bright yellow coats, who Booker presumed were hired to bring him to his destination.  
"Are you going to just sit there?" The man in front asked, and for a moment Booker thought he was being talked to, when the woman retorted, "As opposed to what? Standing?"  
"Not standing. Rowing," replied the man calmly.  
"Rowing? I hadn't planned on it."  
The woman replied, as she turned slightly to hand Booker his lockbox. Her face was covered, and he was unable to peer in. He was suspicious, but understood that faces gave away too much in this type of work.  
"What's this?" Booker asked, but the woman turned around and began to talk to the man again.  
"No, but I do expect you to do all the rowing."  
"And why is that?"  
"Because coming here was your idea."  
"My idea?"  
"And I don't suspect it was for exercise."  
"You don't think rowing is good exercise?"  
"No, I suspect that it's wonderful exercise."  
"Then what?" The man asked.  
"The entire thought experiment."  
Tired of their banter, Booker called out to them. "Excuse me, how much longer?"  
"One goes into an experiment knowing one could fail." The man said, with a clipped tone.  
"But one does not go into an experiment knowing one HAS failed."  
Booker had no idea what was going on, but he suspected that he wasn’t supposed to. He looked down on his lockbox, which was inscribed with his name, and the battalion he was in: 7th Cavalry, Wounded Knee.  
He flipped it open, and looked through what he had. A card had been taped to the inside of the lid, a diagram drawn on it:  
Scroll x1, Key x2, Sword x2  
There was a postcard, and inside the actual box was a pistol, and a picture of a girl.  
Distantly, he heard the two arguing, and pulled out the picture of the girl. She was young, around 4-5. She was wearing what seemed to be a simple white dress, and had a bow in her hair. The people who sent him here told him that she was at least 20 now, but this was the most recent picture they had of her. He flipped it over, and saw “BRING TO NEW YORK, UNHARMED” scribbled on the back. He raised his head, and heard the woman say, “He doesn’t row?”  
"No, he DOESN'T row," the man said, and the woman seemed to understand what was going on.

Booker picked up the pistol and put in his shoulder holster, hidden by his jacket. Looking up, Booker saw where they were headed: a lighthouse. The massive flare of light, rotating in 360 degrees covered all, a beacon of warning and of guidance. Which is it for me? A warning, or a guide? Booker thought as they finally docked themselves next to a ladder. He paused, and his hesitation was not unnoticed. "Do you think he'll get on the ladder?" The man asked, and Booker started, his hand reaching out for the steps. It was a short ladder, and once he was on the deck, he looked back to see his only ride pushing off back into the sea. "Whoa! Is someone else coming?" Booker had to yell against the howling wind. Although they were only 10 feet away, he barely made out a snarky reply, "I hope so, it would be dreadful to be stuck out here." Frustrated, he decided to keep moving. There was most likely someone in the lighthouse, and he wasn't ignorant of the cold chilling his bones. He walked up the creaky wooden boards until he reached the lighthouse doors. A message was sloppily written on a piece of paper in red ink- DeWitt, bring us the girl and wipe away the debt! This is your last chance!- He knocked on the door a couple of times, before pushing the door open.

It was nearly black inside, save for the dim moonlight shining through the grimy, cracked windows, and the occasional kerosene lamp flickering on a desk. Right in front of him, however, he saw a wooden board, with OF THY SINS, I SHALL WASH THEE on it. He walked toward it, looking down in the basin full of water. His rugged face, unshaved but not grimy, looked back at him. He chuckled, and said to the basin, "Good luck, buddy." Booker walked over to the array of desks, hoping to find something of use to him. After a few minutes, he gave up and went up the spiralled staircase, when he almost lost his footing. Looking down, he saw that he slipped on blood, dark and coagulated. He was worried now. I thought someone was waiting for me here, Booker thought as he put his right hand on the grip of his pistol. Even more slowly, he crept along the edge of the wall, and as he looked up he saw a window with a bullet sized hole through it. Sloppy job, Booker noted as he as kept going up the stairs. When he finally arrived at the next level, his face paled. There was a body, a man from what Booker could see. His face was covered with a rucksack, and his arms were tied behind the chair he was seated on. Blood had dripped down his neck and body and spilled onto the floor, becoming dry and sticky. Must have been here for a few days, thought Booker, as he leaned in to read a note pinned on the body- DON'T DISAPPOINT US. This isn’t turning out to be a great day, thought Booker as he turned to the stairs. After another flight of stairs, he found himself standing outside, at the top of the light house. The water was crashing against the lighthouse, and the rain was still thickening the air. He walked over to a set of three golden bells, each inscribed with some sort of image. He rang the middle one, and a red light briefly pulsed, and let Booker clearly see the images. There was a scroll, key and sword on each bell. Quickly, he pulled out the card that was taped to the inside of the lockbox. SCROLL x1, KEY x2, SWORD x2. Maybe it’s a pattern, thought Booker. Quickly, he rang the scroll bell once, the key bell twice and the sword bell twice as well. The red lights above the bells all went off, and for a moment Booker was disappointed. Was that it? He thought, but he covered his ears as a blaring horn went off, and a much larger beacon of red light illuminated the stormy sky.

“What the hell?” Booker said aloud, as it went off again. After one more signal, the bells twisted 90 degrees, and a door opened. Surprised, Booker went forward, not thinking to examine the room. He saw a chair sitting in the middle of the room. “Guess they want me to sit in their fancy chair,” he said as he climbed onto it, his hands resting on the metal armrests. Without warning, two iron clasps slapped themselves around Booker’s hands. “What the hell?” He grunted, as he struggled against the trap. “Make yourself ready, pilgrim. The bindings are there for your safety,” a metallic female voice announced as pieces of steel shot up from the floor, and closed themselves around Booker. A trap door opened below the chair, and Booker was turned 90 degrees. His pistol fell out of his holster, twirling into a work of gears. An explosion, and the sudden speeding of the gears nearly overpowered him as he yelled, “No! No! Goddamn it!” His chair was brought back up, and the female announcer returned. “Ascension! Ascension in 5, 4, 3, 2…” was background to Booker, as he shouted protests against the countdown. When it reached down to one, Booker prepared himself for the worst. Then the world exploded.


End file.
